Release
by Camfield
Summary: Sometimes you need to remember what it was you did before the war.  Mature - Sticky.  Masturbation, Oral and Sex.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Release  
><strong>Continuity<strong>: G1  
><strong>PairingsCharacters**: Prowl/Jazz  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC17 for smut: Sticky-Masturbation, Oral and Sex  
><strong>Story summary<strong>: Sometimes you need to remember what you did before the world went to pieces.

FF EATS MY FORMATTING! I have no clue how to fix that, lol.

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><p>Music throbbed through the rec room. It was always a release of energy to have these parties, command knew it, and that was why they were allowed as frequently as they were. Many of the participants didn't even drink the 'special punch' that was provided, they just gyrated across the floor hoping to entice a fellow mech for a few hours that night.<p>

Really, this night wasn't any different in that respect. Many of them had already paired or grouped up and disappeared for more pleasurable activities.

Even Blaster had disappeared early tonight, not that Jazz had a problem with it. Blaster was usually the onbe manning the controls late into the evening, so that he was gone early was a good thing for him.

Jazz had resigned himself to not getting any as he sat at the DJ booth. Fingers sliding through the air above the board, creating stops, skids and effects through the music that was playing. He wasn't even sure that he recognized the song, as distracted as he was it wouldn't surprise him, and all his fiddling wasn't making it any easier.

Still, it had a heavy beat and a fuck me attitude, and he'd be dammed if he didn't at least have a little fun as he waited for the last mech to leave the room.

Scanning the remaining mechs in the room he quickly eliminated most of them. Hound had Mirage against the wall, and Jazz could see that they were both seconds (or inches) from interfacing right where they were.

Inferno… no. As much as he liked the big guy, he didn't want Red Alert to fritz on him. The security officer could be downright nasty when he wanted to be.

That left Prime, Ironhide, Prowl and Cliffjumper. Yeesh.

Prime and Ironhide were well on their way to being heavily overcharged. Jazz had no problem with either of them, but they were both rather large compared to him, and he didn't really want to have to watch out for his own wellbeing tonight.

Cliffjumper… yeah… No. The minibot was sulking from some perceived injustice and was loudly proclaiming this to anyone who had passed him that evening. Even without a face to hone in on, he was doing an impressively dark version of Bluestreak in his little corner.

Which left… Prowl, and there was DEFINITLY a dry spell going on in Jazz's life when he dismissed other mechs for PROWL.

Or not. Jazz could always just dance by himself tonight, it wasn't like he hadn't before.

Emboldened by his decision he threaded a personal playlist into the machine and headed over to the dance floor, stopping to admire it before toeing a control panel set on the corner.

This had been years in the making. Wheedling and blackmailing, pleading and nearly begging for materials and space before everyone involved literally threw up their hands. Jazz had never before been deterred in his whims, and Primus knows he would have persisted to the point of nearly deactivating whomever had resisted in pure annoyance.

So, Jazz got his dance floor.

It was his own design, of course, and based off of what he'd used back on Cybertron as a performer.

Each square was tied into a pressure grid that would flash a different color light for each step within a period of time. A good dancer could make the floor just as much of the show as a bad could make it a deterrent. Most of the other Autobots on the Ark were… well passable dancers, it didn't take much to learn how to grind on one another, but none of them had been performers. Pit, he wasn't even sure if any of them knew who he had been!

His other addition had been a pole that suddenly snikked from its hidden panel on the floor. Sturdy enough to hold Prime's weight, Jazz had put this in on the sly. No one, even as far as those who had known him before the war, knew about what Jazz had done before he'd been 'discovered'.

It was funny to think 'discovered' and Jazz giggled a bit as the pole hit its final height, gears locking and a line threading down from the ceiling to hook the top of the pole and hold it tight against the weight it was about to bear.

The previous track came to a close and the first song on his playlist loaded up.

In a second, Jazz was gone. No longer was he 3IC on the Ark trying to win a war. No longer was he a warrior fighting on the front lines.

Jazz was no longer Jazz, and it felt good.

Letting his memories take over he sauntered over to the pole, one hand lightly caressing the smooth metal as he ran his hand up and down. Swaying with the beat he shuttered his optics and swung onto the pole.

His legs twisted, snugging him to the metal as he pushed upwards, climbing with slow deliberate movements. The pole warming beneath his plating as paused at the top, undulating both into and away from the rigid material as his legs kicked him into a spin.

He caught a thigh against the pole and arched backwards, until the tips of his sensory horns just brushed the metal, then grabbed it with both hands and flipped outward, twisting so that it sent him in a lazy spiral, before curling in with the pole at his back and his legs kicked out into a vertical split.

This… this was so much better than sitting around. He hadn't danced like this since way before the war began, since he'd started performing 'for real' really. It had been his job, true, but also his pleasure. No one could touch him, no one could bother him unless HE had said so.

Images flitted through his processor as he laved his body against the pole, movements slick like water on the heated metal, his hands flitting over his plating at each chance they got.

He hadn't been a pleasure bot, but that hadn't meant that he didn't excel in giving it. Times and prices had been on HIS terms, and more than a few bots had paid him royally again and again.

His glossa slid between his denta to lubricate his lips, sliding slowly in remembrance of past lovers.

Catching himself upside down, he locked one leg to the pole and swung the other into a split along the length of the metal, heated crotch plate sending a ping of pleasure at the contact. Someone groaned, though he wasn't sure if it had been him or a memory, and his hands crept over his body, touching and stroking gently and firmly until they reached their goal.

With a soft click his lower interface panel opened, revealing a thoroughly heated and lubricated valve. One finger delved into the wet space, running along the inner rim slowly, so slowly before trailing back up his body.

He slipped the finger into his mouth briefly before returning it to the burning space below. One hand still on the pole, he rocked gently onto his fingers. Stimulating sensor nodes and places long ignored in the rush of the war. He never stopped moving, his body still twisting and spinning slowly over his fingers and the pole, changing positions with light groans and shudders as he rocked against the pressure on and in his valve.

At some point the song had changed to a primal, twisting beat and his movements changed with it. The fingers slipped out so he could grasp the pole in both hands, not once minding the slickness. Gone was the sole sensuality and in its place was a controlled strength that flowed from move to move.

Back arched and hands on the pole above his head as his legs swung wide, then tucking a leg around the pole and letting his hands go he spun quickly, almost wildly before snagging it again and turning himself upside down.

His legs stretched out into a V, then into a full split, before he arched so far that his pedes rested lightly on his helm.

Again the music changed, something fierce and wild, and sensuality was lost in the movements of power that wrapped around the pole.

He flipped, turned and twisted. Snagging the pole with thighs, knees, ankles, torso , arms and hands as he threw himself from one complicated move into another. This had nothing to do with interfacing, not really. This was literally a show of power to whomever was watching, reminding them that whatever he might have been, that he was still powerful and dangerous even in something that had been started for pleasure.

Almost anger powered through him, fueling his already erratic movements. He was so tired of this war, so tired of fighting. Even right now, energon coursing through his lines from getting back to his favorite function was tainted by this pit-spawned war.

But just as he was working himself into a fury, the music changed again. This time a soft, low song that spoke of home and whatever it had been that he was feeling with the previous song turned into something almost melancholy here.

Home… that was still Cybertron wasn't it? Even as barren and dead as it was, Cybertron was still what they were fighting for. Still the real reason that he hadn't just called it quits and joined Primus yet. He still fought, because deep down he wanted to go home.

The song moved through his frame and the movements became slow and sensuous again. Home.

Unlike the previous songs, this had nothing to do with strength. This was pure emotion played into movements that made him want to weep and rock against a lover, something that he hadn't had in a long time.

His visor snapped up and even though his optics were still off it was a relief. This, dancing, was caressing him and rocking him and gentling him in ways he hadn't even known he'd needed. The pole was his lover and he put all his effort into seducing it into comforting him.

So much effort that he didn't notice the other mech until they were nearly right on top of him. So much effort that he didn't care that another set of hands wrapped themselves around the pole and hoisted their body up to him.

He had done tandem acts before, so the feel of another body on the pole didn't bother him. He was past caring who it was, only that someone had enough skill to join him in a dance that he needed. NEEDED so badly he was on the verge of sobbing.

The other set of hands threaded through spaces where his legs met the pole and he felt the other mech lazily swing upwards. The heat and weight suddenly at his back were met with his arm snaking around the other mech's helm as he twisted and pulled them into a kiss.

It was almost a desperate kiss. Full of longing and sorrow and everything else he didn't allow himself to feel and show to the rest of the Ark. This though, he could allow. Whoever this was had watched him, had seen him and had joined him. That, for now, was enough.

Gentle hands rubbed over plating and dipped into seams as the lips returned the kiss softly.

Suddenly the other mech was gone from his back, but only to climb higher on the pole, a silent urging to dance with an equal.

He never hesitated.

They turned and twined together and apart. Touches, caresses and hand holds lingering well past being needed for balance, kisses every time their helms were close enough and legs that seemed to belong to both of them and neither of them all at once.

Pure heaven.

He could feel the heat coming off the other mech. The need, the want, it wasn't often their kind came across equals, even before the war it had been a rare enough profession that having 2 in the same club, same area were rare enough to be unthinkable.

And they were all well versed in pleasure, even if it was only by choice who they joined for the evening.

The music had changed again, into something made entirely of licks and wandering touches. Twined together on the pole as they were he could only arch backward as a slim finger found his still open panel and slipped inside his valve.

The dancing had made him hotter than before and it showed. Dark purple lubricant slid over the finger and down his thighs as his valve lining was stroked repeatedly and he writhed against the body invading his own.

Vented air ghosted over his body as the other mech climbed down and pulled him so that the pole rested in the apex of his thigh, holding him there as a slick glossa replaced the finger.

He arched back far enough that his struts groaned, denta gritted against the sensation of the other mech against his lower half. It had been so long since he had touched himself before tonight, and even longer from his previous lover. It felt exquisite in ways he had forgotten and eagerly wanted to remember.

The mech chuckled softly as they continued to press their glossa inside his valve. Nipping gently at the rim, then soothing with short licks before delving deep inside, touching sensor nodes and making sure to give each one the attention it deserved before moving on to the next.

Already hot from earlier, it was no surprise when he overloaded with a soft cry, pulling the other mech up as he slid down the pole. Crashing their mouths together in a kiss that was all kinds of right, he fingered down the smooth chassis until he reached the other's interfacing panels. With a light tap and caress the panel opened smoothly, spike extending fully in a matter of seconds.

He ran his fingers up and down the length, smoothing over the metal before pulling himself flush to the pole. Torso and arms on one side and legs spread invitingly on the other.

The other mech vented sharply before pulling him into a fevered kiss. He felt the mech twist around the pole until their legs were directly underneath his, heat from the spike teasing his already heated valve.

He felt the pole shake a bit as the other set their pedes and pushed up, filling his valve the most delicious way possible. They stilled for a moment, both getting a good grip on the pole before he wrapped his legs around the other mech and rocked slowly.

Both groaned from the contact. The other mech thrust slow and long while he rocked and wiggled, each feeling out sensitive spots by the moans and groans now permeating the space around them.

He gripped the pole with one hand more tightly before reaching to where he knew the other mech's helm was and pulling them into a slow and skilled kiss.

Even as he had to return his hand to the pole for balance he felt the other mech adjust and thrust in again and had to use all his strength to keep from falling to the floor.

The other mech noticed it and set a rolling rhythm that hit that spot every thrust.

Again and again and again. Pants, moans and wet noises filled the air as they worked toward overload.

He knew it was close, he could feel the pressure and heat from the other mech and the swirling in the pit of his fuel tank that meant that he was about to hit the edge and locked his arms in place. His own movements became stilted and random in a way that he couldn't remember ever happening before, even as he noticed the other mech's thrusts doing the same.

As he rode his partner to the end the other mech growled in his audio before overloading with a low, "Jaaaaazz.."

And he knew who his partner was. Even in the throes of his own exquisite overload he recognized that voice, the same voice that droned on and on in meetings, the same voice that was forever chastising the Ark's inhabitants on proper safety and decorum.

Did it matter?

No, not really. Because Prowl had given him what he needed, what he wanted, and had done it on his terms and his way.

He rebooted his optics to a beautifully debauched Prowl, softened spike still in his dripping valve, still hanging on the pole with grace and skill. His optics searched Prowl's face for a second, before he unlocked his arms and snaked one around the other's neck.

They kissed slowly, neither willing to let go of the moment.

Finally Prowl retracted his spike, causing them both to shiver at the sensation, and they both closed their panels. Together they climbed down, bodies pressed to the pole and each other the entire way, and when they hit the floor they quickly removed that one barrier as well. Bodies pressed leg to leg, hip to hip, chassis to chassis and helm to helm as they moved like one mech.

Neither cared if there was anyone else in the room, neither even looked. Their eyes were firmly locked on each other as they moved fluidly through the corridors to the officer's quarters.

At a glance Prowl guided them to his own quarters and used Jazz's hand to key in the code and open the door.

They moved to the berth and for a second Prowl looked unsure, as if he didn't know what to do anymore, never mind the fact that they had just interfaced on a pole in the rec room.

Jazz chuckled and raised Prowl's hand to his lips, kissing it softly before laying on the berth and pulling Prowl down to him.

They lay there, face to face. No words spoken, no words needed.

Prowl stroked a hand down Jazz's face, tangling their legs together, and pushed his helm to just touch the other's.

His touch, his optics, his body, it told Jazz all he needed to know.

Because Prowl knew what Jazz had been thinking and he understood. Had seen Jazz's emotions and echoed them back with just as much passion and sorrow. He KNEW.

And that was all that mattered anymore.

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><p>This was my first (real) foray into smut. I'm hoping I did it adequately, because lord knows I haven't gotten any recently and this is all I have in my life, LOL! Plot? I guess. It isn't really pwp, cuz there is a little back story and I spent 3 hours looking for the right music and researching pole dancing.<p>

Pole dancing is an interesting form of entertainment. It showcases strength, flexibility and of course, T&A. 'Most' of the male pole dancers I found really didn't dance in the same sense that the females did. Their routines were focused on strength poses, much like gymnastics.

If you're interested, here is a list of a few dances I looked at for this piece. I tried to incorporate feature from each of these songs into the story, and I hope I got at least some of that! Add in front of the link~

Song 1 - .com/watch?v=18-gS4uGDzA&feature=related

Song 2 - .com/watch?v=6m2sbLQDlRs&feature=BFa&list=PLF334EADD9201FBAD&lf=results_video

Song 3 - .com/watch?v=U-kRaR8yfqg&feature=related

Song 4 - .com/watch?v=JcQaE9lxipU

Song 5 - .com/watch?v=Q-HuNusDnco&feature=related

Duo moves

.com/watch?v=SF6t0shspBg

.com/watch?v=z_eDZGn6bxE&feature=related

.com/watch?v=f1Y5jrj61yw&feature=related

.com/watch?v=e45VdBG_cM&feature=related

.com/watch?v=0f_L0bvconI&feature=related

Male pole dancers .

.com/watch?v=roOpKsflY2I&feature=related

.com/watch?v=lczvJ6G2Qg0&feature=related

Comments and con-crit are always loved


	2. Chapter 2

This is Prowl's version of _Release_. Just something extra that I found I needed to write.

I don't own Transformers or Home by Michael Buble.

Warnings from previous chapter still apply. Sticky smut - Masturbation, Oral and Sex.

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><p>The night had wound down earlier than usual.<p>

Most of the Ark's inhabitants had found themselves partners and were off enjoying some of the little real downtime they got the easiest way they knew how.

Prowl sat and sipped his drink.

He wasn't alone just yet. Prime and Ironhide were well on their way to being overcharged, talking in low tones as Ironhide tried to keep their Prime sane.

Prowl shifted at the low admissions that came from their leader. Prime was their leader, but he'd never been meant to be a warrior. He was a charismatic mech, full of compassion and love for his people, and being the one who was leading them into danger and death was slowly but surely taking its toll on his mental state. Prowl was pretty sure it was only Ironhide and Ratchet that were keeping him from doing something they would all regret.

That was partly why these parties went on. They all had different lives before the war, even Sunstreaker and Sideswipe who had been commissioned as warrior builds hadn't seen more than bodyguard work until Megatron had pushed them into this death spiral.

He shook his helm, sipping the high grade he'd allowed himself. He'd been on 'chaperone' duty tonight, but in the absence of most of the crew he was still here because he needed to unwind just as much as any of the others.

Days in and out of calculating statistics and probabilities caused his logic center and battle computer to ache where they had been connected to his main CPU. Necessary evils, he'd had them installed on the hope that they would help the war end quicker. That had been back when the war was fresh and everyone was still floundering to fit into a military unit where none of them had been soldiers.

Back when they were sure that this war couldn't last.

Prowl shut off his optics and paused for just a minute before shutting down his battle computer and logic center. Tonight, he didn't want to calculate anything. He just wanted to feel.

When the music shifted rather abruptly from the incessantly happy Earth pop that had been playing to something bass heavy and sensuous he rebooted his optics to see what Jazz was doing. There weren't any mechs left in here to dance, not that he could see anyway.

All at once, Prowl was glad he was already sitting down as his motor functions locked up.

Jazz had walked over to a tall pole coming from the dance floor and run his hands over it before swinging up and onto to metal, legs scraping lightly as he hoisted himself to the top and paused, body writhing in time with the music.

Prowl couldn't keep his eyes off of the mech and he spared no processing power to try. He'd known Jazz had been a performer, but this…

Was perfect.

It was perfect because as soon as Jazz had hit the pole, Prowl had known who he had been.

Known because he had been one as well.

It was his most closely guarded secret, that prior to joining the resistance he had catered to high caste mechs and femmes as a dancer. Praxus had always had a fascination with beautiful things and in this they were no different. His creators had been a singer and pleasure mech respectively, and Prowl had chosen to be a dancer when his final upgrades came around.

It had been frighteningly easy to seduce everyone. His bulky form now was a necessity of war, but he had once been sleek and lithe and oh so temptingly beautiful. So much so that within a very short time of his upgrades he was performing for the elite. The Primes, the Priests… He had been able to purchase his own creator's contracts and allow them to take only the jobs they wanted to, something nearly unheard of in their profession.

Still, as he watched Jazz arch and caress his own plating he remembered his own happiness at being good at what he did. The happiness that Jazz now showed, in offline optics and ease of movement, and Prowl sucked air through his vents as Jazz dipped a finger into what could only be an exposed valve.

His own interface components pinged relentlessly as he watched Jazz _writhe_against his own fingers. It was surprising to Prowl that he found himself envious of Jazz's fingers as he tracked their movements within Jazz's body, never before had he expressed an interest in the 3IC beyond what he considered professional. Though if Jazz had done this before…

The music had changed and Prowl found himself impressed with the control and creativity of the movements that became increasingly about strength rather than seduction.

He could see that Jazz was good, perhaps another high end bot from a different city. In reality, there hadn't been that many of them that specialized in dance entertainment. For those who couldn't afford it, it was wasteful and frowned upon. Those that had some skill were always in high demand. Those that finished the training…

Well, they had wanted for nothing. Most entertainers were outside treaties or war lines. They were granted exclusive amnesty in Primus name, and very few mecha were willing to risk angering their entire contingent by harming an entertainer. A fully trained dancer was treated on the same level as Prime himself. Best lodging, best fuel, best company and they had only to ask before it appeared, no matter what the request.

Prowl had enjoyed himself thoroughly. He danced for the most important clients, lived like a king on top quality fuel and barely suffered a scuff before he was hustled to a medic for a buff and a wax. He had no shortage of pleasure partners either, and had spent many nights curled around more than one body.

Prowl's gaze flitted over to where Optimus and Ironhide were drinking, and was pleasantly amused to see them nearly in recharge where they sat. Prime had always taken on more than his share of the work; it was good to see him relaxed.

The music changed again and his optics wandered back to where Jazz was flinging himself into sets of complicated maneuvers, dangerously close to clipping something as he whirled and twisted, each bringing his body into contact with the pole with a clang as he continued to move. Anger was prevalent in each move and Prowl was sure that it wasn't long before Jazz snapped.

Except the music changed again and the tension drained from the black and white frame back into something sweet and seductive, something that pulled at Prowl's spark as he watched Jazz grip the pole like he would a lover.

The ever present visor clicked up and Prowl could see sorrow and longing in the face of his comrade.

Those emotions on such a normally happy face… Prowl stood before he knew what he was doing. All he knew was he wanted to show Jazz that he understood.

_Another winter day has come  
>And gone away<br>In even Paris and Rome  
>And I wanna go home<br>Let me go home_

_And I'm surrounded by_  
><em>A million people I<em>  
><em>Still feel all alone<em>  
><em>Oh, let me go home<em>  
><em>Oh, I miss you, you know<em>

I just want to go home. That was what he saw in Jazz. His movements, expression, his everything.

Jazz didn't notice him, or didn't acknowledge him, as he reached the pole and grabbed it firmly; Pulling himself up and around Jazz until he was resting against the saboteur's back, waiting for the other mech to make the next move.

Whatever he had expected, it hadn't been for Jazz to snake an arm around his helm and pull him into one of the most fierce and desperate kisses he'd ever had. It was full of the same longing and sorrow he'd seen from his chair and Prowl returned it softly, fingers slipping over plating and into seams before climbing higher on the pole. He knew Jazz would see it as an invitation, not a rejection, and was eager, so eager, to perform with a skilled partner.

Jazz never hesitated.

They twisted and flowed together and apart with skill and slick touches that spoke of desire and training and lifestyles long buried in their lives as warriors.

Legs locked around pole and each other's waist before they both arched outward, momentum causing them to spin gently before the music changed again and they crashed together in kisses, licks and wandering touches.

Prowl felt the heat of Jazz's still exposed valve against him and slid a finger inside, nearly groaning as lubricant immediately stained his finger and began dripping down white thighs. Jazz undulating against him as Prowl stroked the valve lining gently before gripping the pole and sliding so his helm was level with the pelvic plate of his partner.

He wrapped one of Jazz's thighs against the pole and pushed the other wide before delving into the wet space with his glossa.

Jazz nearly arched off the pole, struts groaning as Prowl thrust his glossa slowly in and out of Jazz's valve. Prowl chuckled soundlessly, the air passing over the sensitized rim before him, Nibbling on the soft edges before soothing the sting with licks and moving back to lave attention on each sensor node he could find.

Jazz had already been hot, so it wasn't long before he overloaded with a soft cry and pulled Prowl back up to crash their mouths together in a kiss that affected Prowl more than he could ever remember a kiss doing. Jazz's hands moved swiftly down Prowl's chassis and gave a tap and caress to his spike cover.  
>Prowl clicked it open and nearly groaned as his spike pressurized immediately, Jazz's hand smoothing and flickering over the metal in a cruel and sensuous tease.<p>

Suddenly Jazz twisted so that his torso was on one side of the pole and his legs were on the other. He hooked a pede around the metal and spread his legs in a movement that made Prowl vent sharply.

He moved until his thighs rested under Jazz's, setting his pedes for balance, and pushed into the dripping valve above. They both stilled for a moment and readjusted their grip on the pole before Jazz wrapped his legs around Prowl's waist and rocked slowly.

It was enough for them each to groan softly at the contact. Prowl thrust slow and pulled out nearly all the way before pushing in again, maintaining the luxurious pace even as Jazz rocked and wiggled against him, finding sensitive spots with ease that had both of them moaning.

Jazz reached for him and pulled him into a kiss that spoke of skill and passion. It was better then he'd ever had before and made even more so by the longing still attached to the other mech.

Jazz's hand returned to the pole for balance as Prowl adjusted and thrust in again, feeling Jazz stiffen almost imperceptibly against him, and set a steady rolling rhythm that pounded relentlessly against the end sensor nodes in Jazz's valve.

He thrust again and again, moans and pants filling the air in between kisses and wet noises. He was close and Jazz seemed to be as well, their rhythm stuttering before the charge crested and he growled out a low, "Jaaaaazz…" in the other's audio.

Jazz had stiffened against him as in overload and it seemed that they stayed there for eternity. The charge circling through each touch until Prowl was sure it would knock him offline before it dropped off and he looked up.

Jazz had rebooted his optics and was gazing at him in unrestrained emotion. They hung there, cycling air heavily as Jazz seemed to search his face for a second before snaking an arm around his neck and kissing him slowly, thoroughly.

It was a while before Prowl retracted his spike, both of them shivering at the sensation, and clicked his panel closed as Jazz did the same.

They climbed down the pole in perfect sync, bodies touching constantly around the metal, and when they reached the floor that was quickly removed as well. Bodies pressed together so tightly as if they were trying to become one entity, leg to leg, hip to hip, chassis to chassis and helm to helm as they moved toward the door.

If there was anyone still in the rec room they didn't acknowledge them. Their optics were locked firmly on each other as they moved fluidly through the corridors to the officer's quarters.

Prowl guided them to his own quarters and used Jazz's hand to key in the code and open the door, fingers twined together as soon as it slid closed with them inside.

For a second, Prowl's processor caught up to him. They didn't have a relationship, he hadn't ever had one beyond being paid for his services, and this was something new, something he didn't want to mess up.

Jazz chuckled and raised Prowl's hand to his lips, kissing it softly before he laid himself on Prowl's berth and pulled Prowl down to him.

They lay face to face, emotions flickering over their gazes and into their hands as Prowl stroked Jazz's face, trying to convey without words that he understood in a way no one else could hope to touch. Tangling their legs together and pushing his helm so that it just touched Jazz's, vents hitching as he held back his own sob at the contact.

Prowl understood, he had seen Jazz's emotions and echoed them back with just as much passion and sorrow, and he knew that Jazz knew. That he KNEW.

_Let me go home  
>I've had my run<br>Baby, I'm done  
>I gotta go home<br>Let me go home  
>It will all be all right<br>I'll be home tonight  
>I'm coming back home<em>

And that was all that mattered anymore.


End file.
